The Hospital Conversations
by seomensnowlocke
Summary: A missing moment from HBP. Hermione overhears and engages in some interesting conversations in the hospital wing after Ron's poisoning... RHr. Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

"Look," Ron said, exhaustion apparent in his voice, "I _am _glad you came."

Hermione stopped dead in the hallway outside of the hospital wing. Hermione felt a moment of shock at the realization that Ron was awake, and apparently recovering as Madame Pomfrey had promised. Hermione felt the relaxation of several days' tension that had wound itself between her shoulder blades, and sudden moisture in her eyes.

"_He is going to be alright," _she thought with crushing relief_. "He really is."_

Blinking rapidly, Hermione saw that the door to the hospital wing was open a crack. Ron sounded as if he had spoken directly to her, but he could not see her yet. He was obviously not too happy about his present conversation, and he sounded as if he was under strain.

Hermione felt a moment of protective annoyance at whoever was pestering Ron in his condition. He had still been comatose the evening before when Hermione had stopped to check on him; a ritual she had repeated several times in the last three days. Hermione had an inkling who would reply, before the shrill voice even reached her ears. She peeked through the crack in the door. Ron was propped against a headboard, and swaddled in his blankets. He looked weak, but he was alive…wonderfully gloriously alive and awake.

She was also not surprised to see the back of a blonde figure standing imperiously over the sickened Ron. Hermione fought down a powerful urge to barge in and start plucking out those silky straight blonde hairs one by one.

"Oh, sure," came Lavender Brown's petulant response. "You seem _so_ overjoyed."

"Look," said Ron, exasperated. "I barely know what day it _is_. Just give me a few days to get my bearings,"

"A few _days_!?" squealed Lavender, bending over Ron with one hand on her hip and the other hand pointing accusingly. "I've been worried sick about you for three days already! And Madame Pomfrey would barely let me in the door! But of course, all of your _friends_ could come in and see you at all hours. 'Special permission of the family,' said the old bat! Meanwhile, I'm stuck crying in my room thinking you would die and nobody would even bother to tell me! But of course, your _friends_ would be called immediately…"

As Lavender's tirade continued, Ron wore a look that Hermione knew well. Ron was generally high spirited, but at that moment Ron was wearing the moody and mulish expression that usually preceded some sort of highly rude and/or insensitive outburst.

It was exactly the same expression that Ron had worn for several days before that terrible Quidditch match; the one after which Ron had begun his ridiculous affair with Lavender.

"Has _she_ been here…again?"

"Oh, give over, Lavender!" said Ron, his raised voice becoming harsh. "I'm in hospital and I don't need you questioning what I do with my _friends_!"

Lavender straightened as suddenly as if she had been slapped. Hermione had to suppress a thrill of glee.

"Well…" sputtered Lavender with a sniff. "Well…"

Ron sunk sulkily into his blankets and crossed his arms on his chest.

Lavender suddenly sat on the edge of his bed, which allowed Hermione to see her simpering, but pretty face. "Well of course you are not feeling well just yet," said Lavender in syrupy tones. She patted Ron's arm in a motherly way. "You are not yourself at all."

Ron made a noncommittal grunt.

"I'll leave you to rest, my poor Won Won," said Lavender, as if it was her idea all along and Ron was insisting she stay too long.

"Lavender, look, that's not it…" started Ron uncertainly. "Look…"

"Yes," said Lavender, nodding her head with a vapid smile. She was the picture of caring encouragement.

Hermione's jaw ached and she realized she had started grinding her teeth.

Ron sighed and said, "That's not…a bad idea."

"Allright, Sweetie," said Lavender and she leaned over to plant a firm, but thankfully closed-mouth, kiss on Ron's lips.

Fighting an urge to gag, Hermione suddenly realized that it would be decidedly inconvenient to be discovered by the Blonde Tart when she exited the infirmary. Hermione peered up and down the hallway on either side. She cast a quick glance at Ron, who was staring at Lavender uncomprehendingly while Lavender fretted over setting his blankets straight. Amused at his discomfiture, Hermione moved swiftly to the closet she had spotted and sequestered herself inside.

As she sat primly on an overturned mop bucket, Hermione realized she needn't have rushed. Muffled by the closet door, Hermione could hear Lavender dutifully speaking to Madame Pomfrey about Ron's condition. _Of course, _Lavender needed to know if there was anything she_, Ron's girlfriend, of_ course, could do to speed Ron's recovery or to keep him from overstressing himself, because, _of course_, Ron was _ever_ the most _industrious_ of boys.

Hermione nearly laughed out loud at that. If it didn't have to do with Quidditch, food, or chess, Ron's industrious nature was definitely less than apparent. The silly girl had absolutely no clue about Ronald Weasley.

Luckily the closet was rather spacious and the mop bucket sat against a wall. So Hermione leaned back and stretched her legs out. She might as well get comfortable as she waited for the end of Lavender's nonsensical monologue.

Hermione rubbed her aching jaw as she sat in the dark closet. She contemplated what was going to be her first conversation with Ron in months. What would she say? What could she say?

Well, of course there were a lot of things she _could_ say, but _should_ she?

Should she tell Ron that she had never felt as frightened or as horrible as when he had been poisoned that day? Should she tell Ron that she had never run so fast in her life as she did that day? Should she tell Ron how badly she had wanted…no needed…_someone_ to tell her that Ron would not die that day? Should she tell Ron that she had mentally castigated herself in the cruelest terms for not speaking to him that day? Should she tell Ron that she had never felt as desolate as she had that day? Should she tell Ron that it had taken all of her restraint to keep from weeping by his bedside that day?

That terrible, awful, horrible day.

"_Please, please live, Ron, please live,"_ she had thought to herself, the mantra repeating endlessly in her distraught mind. _"Please, please live."_

That day the conversation of the others in the room had washed over her, and she had paid little attention. Somebody had said something that sparked interest in her, however, and she had quietly responded. She didn't even remember what had been said, now. It had been the first time she had said anything since entering that room. Then Ron had done it.

"ER-MY-NEE," Ron had muttered at the sound of her voice.

Should she tell Ron that when he had said those syllables her heart had exploded in her chest? Should she tell Ron that she had sat there shaking silently among the crowd of onlookers? Should she tell Ron how her emotions had coursed through her like a river of fire and ice? Should she tell Ron that his response to her voice…and only her voice…had thrilled her and buoyed her?

And what did all of this mean?

Hermione shook her head ruefully. She knew what it meant, but she was not willing to admit it to herself yet. Not like this. Not with Lavender being his girlfriend.

Thinking of Lavender, Hermione suddenly realized that the voices in the hallway had ceased.

It was time to talk to Ron, then.

Standing and straightening her robes, Hermione stepped to the door of the closet. After making sure the coast was clear, she exited and walked resolutely to the door of the hospital wing.

"_Well,"_ she thought, feeling the flutters in her chest, "_whatever I am going to tell him, I will be telling it to him soon."_


	2. Chapter 2

As Ron listened to Lavender prattle on at Madame Pomfrey, he kept hearing a scraping noise. The ache in his jaw let him know that it was his teeth grinding. He unclenched his jaw and felt a momentary relief from the headache that had been building since Lavender had arrived.

"_That girl," he thought, "has become a bloody nightmare."_

Lavender was going on and on and on to the school healer. She was his girlfriend, of course; she should be informed immediately if his condition got better or worse, of course; she should be allowed in at all hours in order to cheer him up, without question. Ron felt his jaw and head begin to ache again with each statement.

Alright, Lavender wasn't a complete a nightmare. He did like her. She was nice enough, if a little stuck up. He thought that she really did like him too; maybe she even cared about him as much as she pretended she did. But at other times, she seemed to simply enjoy the trappings of the teenage relationship. She seemed to simply like the idea of having a boy to call, "my sweetheart."

On the other hand, she certainly was a looker. She had graceful features, long silky blonde hair, and a shapely frame. She doted on him and took every opportunity to show everyone how great she thought he was. She snogged him like crazy for the whole world to see, so that every schoolmate knew that Ronald Weasley was _not_ the last bloke on earth to get a snog; no matter anything Ginny might say.

Yeah, she had done a lot for Ron's confidence; that was for sure. He could pull a cute girl when he wanted too after all. That had seemed the biggest deal in the world to him not so long ago. So why couldn't he remember ever being this unhappy?

How had he gotten into this?

He grimaced at the thought. He knew how he had gotten into this. He had wanted to prove he was cool. He had wanted to show his taunting little prat of a sister that he, too, could flail around various parts of the school. He had wanted to show …show...

Hermione. He had done it because of Hermione.

He wanted Hermione to want him. He wanted her to think he was worth wanting. He wasn't the git she thought he was. He wasn't some awkward red-haired idiot for her to step on, or to think poorly of, or to pity. She could have Viktor Krum, and all his riches and fans. She could have Harry, who was so "fanciable."

That last thought brought sudden memories of painful dreams. Dreams brought about by the poison-induced oblivion in which he had wallowed for the last few days; nightmares of Hermione and Harry.

Ron laid his head back on the pillow, listening to Lavender receiving some variety of heated reply from Madame Pomfrey. His eyes closed wearily.

The memory of one of those dreams seemed to come to him now. The figures of Harry and Hermione rose up in front of him, taunting him; her eyes and voice - torturing him. She wrapped herself sensuously around Harry as they laughed at him in scorn. Hermione asked him cruelly:

"_Who could want you, when I have the Boy Who Lived?"_

Ron shivered at the memory of it. Harry was his best mate. Harry had saved Ron's life. Harry had lived a tragic accursed life, which would probably result in his early death. Harry deserved to be as happy as he could be. Ron would not begrudge him anything.

Except her. He couldn't have Hermione.

But in that dream, something odd had happened. The demented face of his best friend had disappeared, and Hermione's eyes had changed. The cruel light had disappeared. Her voice lost that mocking edge and phantom quality.

Her voice sounded again in his ears. In that dream, her voice had become almost real. She had sounded stuffy and scared. She had sounded oh so tearfully frightened; frightened for…him.

In the dream she had become herself; or what he hoped was herself. She had run into his arms and he had kissed her, and raised her off her feet in doing it. He had said her name; called it out in relief to see her affection bestowed on him.

The nightmares stopped coming after that.

Nightmare.

He had called Hermione that once. He just had not realized that she would really become his dream.

He laughed inwardly at himself. Now, if he could just figure out how to wax this poetic with his big mouth as well as his mind, maybe he wouldn't keep ticking her off all the time. Maybe she wouldn't hate him so much right now.

He wished he could learn to what to do and say, and stop being a rude git around Hermione. He wished he knew how to chuck Lavender without hurting her feelings. Hermione always learned all her stuff from books. Maybe there was a book out there about how to stop girls from thinking you are a flaming arse…

Ron heard the click of the Hospital Wing door opening.

"I told you come back tomorrow, Ms. Brown!" came the exasperated voice of Madame Pomfrey from her office. He heard the sound of desk chair being pushed back and rapid footsteps. "If you …Oh! It's you, Ms. Granger."

Ron's eyes snapped open. He craned his head up to look at the doorway. There she was! Lavender was nowhere to be seen! He must have dozed off for a moment while Madame Pomfrey chivvied Lavender out.

Hermione cast a furtive glance at him as she apologized to Madame Pomfrey for the lateness of her visit. Madame Pomfrey wasn't unkind, but she told Hermione that she would have only a few minutes. With a waive of her wand, the healer conjured a squat cushy armchair next to Ron's bed. She had not done the same for Lavender.

Ron watched Hermione walk up to him. She didn't look at him, but he could tell her eyes were a bit red and puffy at the edges. She looked like she had not been sleeping well. Had she been crying? For him?

"Ron," she began, just as he said, "Hermione."

They both sat there flummoxed for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said, as she said, "Go on."

At this, she looked up at him. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards, and saw a mirrored movement in her face.

"I'll go first?" she asked.

"Uh…yeah. Okay."

"Ron, I wanted to say that I am sorry," she said, looking him in the eye.

"For what?" he asked stupidly, kicking himself as he did so.

Hermione looked down again. She seemed torn between being a bit exasperated and a bit amused. "I am sorry that I have not been a friend to you these last few months, and I am sorry that I wasn't there when you needed me."

Ron looked out the window. He felt suddenly horribly mortified by his behavior with Lavender. He took a deep breath and looked back at her

"Me too," Ron said simply. He knew it was too little. "I'm really sorry for … everything. Sorry about Lavender."

"Oh!" said Hermione, a bit surprised. She looked up at him quickly, then back at her feet. She seemed embarrassed but pleased.

They sat there together awkwardly for several long moments. Ron knew that this should be a long conversation. There was much more to say, but he had no idea how to say it. He could see that Hermione felt the same way. She seemed on the verge of spouting out a long diatribe, but she did not seem able to find the right words.

She opened her mouth, and he looked at her expectantly. She shut it again with a frustrated exhalation of breath.

"Difficult, isn't it?" he asked, after several more long seconds.

"What do you mean?" she asked, looking up at him again and holding his gaze.

Ron waived his hand noncommittally around the room.

"All of it," he said. "This…mess." As he finished, he waived his hand between her and him.

She smiled understandingly. Ron chuckled. There was finally an admission that there was …_something_… between them that required a waive of a hand.

The awkwardness of moments before seemed to be dissipating like morning fog. They sat quietly for several minutes, enjoying each other's quiet company.

"Anyway," said Hermione, smiling at him distractedly, "things have never been easy between you and I."

"Yeah," he said, smiling back. "Probably never will be."

"Oh, I dunno," she said airily looking out the window. Was that a wistful look on her face?

"Well," he said giddily, "maybe when Voldemort's breaking down the door."

"If not then, then never," she said. She started to smile, but yawned instead.

Ron watched her closely, feeling suddenly protective.

"You look tired, Hermione," said Ron softly.

She yawned again and settled down deeper into a chair that was surprisingly comfortable.

"I should be off to bed," she said sleepily, her eyelids heavy. "Madame Pomfrey will kick me out in a minute."

Ron reached out his hand to her.

"Not yet?" he said, a plaintive tone creeping into his voice. "I think I …I dream better when … when you're here."

She took his hand in hers, blinking rapidly.

"Not yet," she agreed in a whisper.

Ron watched her close her eyes, and felt himself drift. His last awareness was the caress of her thumb on his fingers, and the sound of her breathing growing deep with sleep.


End file.
